


Cerebral

by NinjaFairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, F/M, One Shot, art class, maybe a two shot, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 06:52:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14326962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFairy/pseuds/NinjaFairy
Summary: Hermione decides to take an art class. Too bad her teacher makes her academic nemesis her new partner. "Your problem is that you think too much, Granger. You need to…" he paused, and pressed himself into her lower back. "…feel more." [Tomione. Modern Muggle AU]





	Cerebral

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



**A/N:**  Writing prompt I got from ash-castle on Tumblr. I liked it enough to post it up here.

 **Prompt:**   _Tomione Uni AU Where Hermione takes an art or photography class to help her look more 'well rounded' but she's awful at it. Where as Tom always seems to just ~get it. One day they are paired up for a project._

* * *

As Hermione fudged up her painting yet  _again_ , she'd decided that she should have just registered for the Creative Writing class, instead of taking this stupid  _painting_ class. Honestly, what in the world was she thinking? She wasn't an  _artist_.

It was quite obvious that she wasn't an artist from the grimace on her art teacher's face when he saw her newest atrocity that he thought the same thing.

"You're thinking too much, Ms. Granger. You need to  _feel_  more. Art is about emotions and self-expression – it's cerebral," he told her in a flamboyant manner.

Hermione scowled as she concentrated on her latest work-in-progress – a bowl of fruit. "I don't understand how I'm supposed to feel anything when my subject is bowl of fruit. All I  _feel_  is hungry."

There was an undignified snort that came from their left and they brought their attention that way. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the culprit – Tom Riddle. She only knew it was him who'd laughed at her, because he still had the remnants of a smirk on his face. He was busy painting  _his_  bowl of fruit, but his looked so… _good_. It filled Hermione with a bitter jealousy. Why was he so damn good at  _everything_?

"Ahh, magnifique, Mr. Riddle!" their teacher clapped his hands together, and grinned as he made his way over to look over Tom's work. "Your colors, your tones, these soft edges – oh, it just brings it to  _life_!"

"Thank you, sir," he replied modestly.

Hermione's shoulders dropped and her mouth hung open in disbelief. How in the world could he bring it to  _life_? It was a bloody bowl of fruit!

There was a loud crash from the other side of the room. Everyone's attention was on poor Neville Longbottom, who had somehow knocked over an entire shelf of paints. He stuttered, "I-I-I think a bolt came loose, sir…"

Their teacher hurriedly motioned for Hermione to come over and she didn't fail to notice how Tom tensed up at the notion. She grumbled under her breath, shoved her brushes into the water, and begrudgingly made her way over to them.

"Here," the older man said as he grasped her shoulders, and placed her right next to Tom. Her eyes went wide. "Tom, could you do me a favor and help Ms. Granger? I'm needed elsewhere."

"But –  _sir_ ," she started to protest, but he was already halfway to the mess Neville had made.

Hermione crossed her arms, and huffed in annoyance. She went to go back to her easel, when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist. She paused to look at the hand covered in different colored paints, then looked up at Tom with a slight frown. "Excuse me?"

"I'm supposed to help you, or did you forget in the span of five seconds?" he replied condescendingly.

"I didn't  _forget_ ," she bit out, and yanked her arm out of his grasp. "I just chose to not listen."

Hermione went back to her easel, and scowled as she painted her 'atrocity'. The  _nerve_  of him – of  _both_  of them, really. So what if she wasn't an amazing artist? Not everyone could be. All she had to do was get a good grade in this class and then she could carry on with her life as if it had never taken place.

A noise directly behind her made her jump in surprise, causing her to take the bright yellow she was using the blend the  _stupid_  pear, and smear it across her painting. " _Fuck!_ "

"I didn't know you were capable of using such dirty language, Granger." Tom's breath fanned across the back of her neck as he spoke. She stiffened as it sent gooseflesh down her spine.

"Oh, would you just  _go away_?"

"I could, but he asked me to help you. So, here I am."

"It wasn't  _mandatory_ , you know," she replied, and looked over at the older man fumbling to help Neville clean up the mess. "You can just tell him you helped me."

"Now you're convincing me to lie? Tsk, tsk, Granger. If I didn't help you, that would weigh heavily on my conscience," he replied, dark humor heavy in his low voice. It was influencing her in a foreign way and she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"Hah. Like  _you_  have a conscience, Riddle," she said quietly, and  _tried_  to focus on painting again, but he made it impossible. Why did he have to be cursed with good looks?

She felt him move closer behind her and his fingers slowly slid down her painting arm until his fingers clasped over hers around the brush. Hermione froze and her breath hitched.

"And why would you think that I don't have one?" he whispered close to her ear.

Hermione turned her face toward his voice, so she could see him out of the corner of her eye. "You might have everyone else here fooled into thinking that you're the perfect pupil, Riddle, but I'm not an  _idiot_."

She could feel his grin against her temple. His hand started to guide her brush strokes. "Are you sure about that, Granger? Even an idiot could paint a bowl of fruit."

Hermione flushed in embarrassment. "If you're going to insult me while 'helping' me, you can just  _sod_  off."

She watched the way his brush strokes made her painting look…different. Better. It was mesmerizing and she hated it.

"I wasn't insulting you; it was just an observation. I do not think that you are an idiot."

"Oh, how  _sweet_  of you, Riddle," she replied sarcastically. "That is probably the closest thing to a compliment you've ever given me over the past two years we've been in Uni together."

His lips grazed the shell of her ear. "Oh, you are  _most_  welcome."

Hermione shuddered against him. She really should have pushed him away the moment he got too close, but that morbid sense of curiosity she wielded like a weapon was overwhelming. It made her excited. He made her feel so many things that she wasn't used to feeling, and that she probably  _shouldn't_  be feeling.

With each brushstroke, her painting changed. The fruit looked different. It looked…it looked…

" _Alive_ ," she breathed.

Tom molded his body against hers. "Your problem is that you think too much, Granger. You need to…" he paused, and pressed his hardness into her lower back. "… _feel_  more."

Hermione gasped when his free hand traveled leisurely up her throat to grasp her chin. He gave a gentle squeeze and her insides clenched.

 

"So, Hermione…do you still feel hungry when you look at that bowl of fruit?" he asked wickedly.

And she decided that yes - yes, she did.


End file.
